


condemn him to the infirmary

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: Wilson's been having nightmares.Discontinued.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. a problem

A soft, choked noise escaped him when he woke up, shivering and breathing heavily as he tried to process what had happened in his dreams.

It took him a moment to remember properly, but the result of his recollections made him want to scream.

It was the same dream, night after night. Wes would invite him to his base, offer him a drugged muffin, then torture him in some sort of cellar. Sometimes it would vary. Wes would choke him or electrocute him with things that logically couldn't be found in the Constant.

He sat up and whined quietly to himself, running a hand through his hair. No use trying to sleep now, he might as well stay up the rest of the night and see if he can't make up for the lack of sleep when the next night came.

Wilson shifted a little in his bedroll, all but flopping back down into laying on it with the grace of a very exhausted goose.

Maybe Wickerbottom was still around at the campfire.

But, then came the question of whether to tell her about the horrible dreams and the bad quality of sleep he'd been getting because of it.

He didn't want to be called weak or be a nuisance.

A sigh escaped him as he rolled onto his side, pulling the blankets with him. The bedroll was comfortable enough. A blanket made of beefalo fur easily able to dwarf him in its warm embrace. A pillow with one side having bunnymen tail tufts. The bedroll itself, it was a fur bedroll, easily trapping enough heat to provide enough heat for a human, maybe several, on chilly winter nights, provided you had a thermal stone.

He still couldn't get to sleep. He still had nightmares.

Wilson yawned, quietly, before forcing himself to sit up, pull the wonderfully soft and warm blanket to the side and get out of bed.

He might as well try and do something, at the very least. It didn't have to be productive.

Refueling his lantern for the day would be a good start.

Pushing himself onto his feet, he staggered towards the exit of his tent, squinting a bit in the midst of the fire's light.

Wickerbottom remained seated on a log, occasionally turning a page in one of her books. She didn't seem to notice him. Or she was ignoring him, one or the other.

Either way, it's something he shouldn't be too fussed about.

He ambled over to the fridge, stumbling a bit as his eyes tried to adjust to the ambient light level. The night was too dark to do much in without a torch, and you ran the risk of getting attacked by the Grue after a few seconds.

He still remembers getting bitten in the back with impossibly sharp teeth.

Wilson felt a shiver run down his spine.

Frankly, he never wanted to experience that ever again.

He rubbed at his head, muttering to himself, before opening the door to the icebox and flinching at the creaking hinges.

Silently, he took out a couple of lightbulbs and refueled his lantern.

He felt somebody watching him. Wilson turned his head to see Wickerbottom staring at him, expression unreadable behind her glasses. He stared back for an indeterminate amount of time, blinking bemusedly.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, dear?" She asked, going back to thumbing through her book.

His eyes darted away from her, then back to her. "I couldn't sleep." A little half-truth wouldn't hurt either of them.

Wickerbottom breathed out in a sigh, shutting her book and clasping her hands together in her lap. "You've been saying that a fair bit lately. Three days, Wilson. Three days you've been up at this time of night."

He blinked again, shivering a bit as a fresh autumn breeze blew past, then storing his lantern in his inventory. The icebox door made a little click as he shut it.

"Is something going on?"

The question made him turn back to look at her, a slightly confused look on his face. "There's nothing wrong, ma'am. It's fine."

Was it really fine, though?

Wilson shifted on his feet, then decided to stumble over and sit opposite to her.

"Are you certain? I've heard it all, you know."

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just need some time."

"Very well." Curtly spoken, he'd noted. Neither of them had anything better to do, so why end the conversation that quickly?

He suppressed a yawn, budging a bit closer to the fire. Warmth cascaded across his face and body, eliminating the autumn chill from his bones.

"I wouldn't get too close to the fire, if I were you. From what I know, you don't have Willow's ability to not be burned by the flames." Wickerbottom murmured, loud enough for him to hear as she took out one of her books again.

He gave an affirmative noise, before simply shutting his eyes.

There was some small amount of comfort to be had when you had company around. Not talking to you, but, rather, in a comfortable silence. Or, well, not so uncomfortable that you have someone clearing their throat to try and alleviate it.

He sleepily opened one of his eyes when he thought she said something, rolling his shoulders. "Mm, could you repeat that?"

"Manners, Wilson."

He gave a sigh, feeling his face flush a tad. "Could you please repeat that?"

"Of course. I was asking you if you were sleeping well."

She was smart, smarter than a lot of people gave her credit for, chances are she'd figure it out by herself, even if he did manage to tell a halfway decent lie.

No point in lying here 

"...I've just. Er, not been sleeping well. It's nothing to worry about, really, I-" He ended up trailing off, staring at his hands that were firmly clasped in his lap.

Wickerbottom nods. "I know the feeling. Do you wager that mandrakes would help?"

"Mandrakes? Aren't those rare-?"

"Quite, but a dead one can be acquired from fighting a specific oddity within this Constant."

"Yes, but there's only about four or five per regeneration of the world. And-- and that big guy with the horns and the deer and the sack is annoying at best to even fight--"

"Wilson, dear, you're overthinking things. We can try a dosage of the mandrake tomorrow. A small chunk might be enough to have an effect."

He twitched a little when his name was used, blinking as he mulled it over. "...Alright. What are we going to… do if-- if it doesn't work?"

"We'll have to test the dosage first. One step at a time."

It wasn't much of a comfort. The lack of sleep was annoying enough, but even the green mushrooms would stop working after a while.

He'd know.

Wilson sighed as he curled up, keeping watch on the fire.

"...Do you know if… if th' cooked green mushrooms could be made more… effecting- no, potent?"

"Mm, we can test things if you'd like."

"Got a headache."

"That's going to happen. Sleep deprivation, dear."

He shut his eyes again and rested his arms on his knees, before burying his head in them, silence reigning.


	2. a proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webber is tired, Willow picks up on some odd behaviour from Wilson, and Wickerbottom suggests a potential solution to that little problem he's been having.

He awoke to embers in the firepit and bright sunlight and the chatter of the campmates as they got ready for the start of the day.

It took him a moment or two for his eyes to adjust, the daylight was a touch too bright for his tastes.

Wilson shifted a little, perhaps uncomfortably. The ground was hard after the summer period, dried up and cracked from the lack of rain. It made for a poor seating choice, but he didn't particularly feel like moving.

Or, at least, he didn't, until he was tackled.

He just about managed to keep his balance, enough to avoid slamming his face on the ground, anyways.

The scientist looked down at his assailant, recognizing it to be Webber. Eight eyes blinked up at him, out-of-sync.

He assumed they'd somehow gotten the idea that rough-housing was fine, but… it didn't particularly harm anyone, and he could definitely see where they'd gotten it from.

Perhaps a bit too much time spent with the spiders. He didn't have it in him to blame them, though, since the spiders were their spider-half's kin.

"Hello Mr. Wilson!"

"Good morning, Webber." A cordial greeting was always essential.

They wriggled a bit, always fidget-y, that one, and plopped into his lap. Wilson cocked his head, before idly thumbing through the fuzz on their head.

"We're planning to get more silk today! Spider says that silk is essential for a good nest."

"Interesting. Do you want the silk for more blankets?"

"Spider really likes the blankets that Miss Willow made. Almost like Mommy-Long Legs' weaving!"

"I'm assuming you're going to try and get Willow to make some more for you."

"Yep-yep!"

"Well, you have fun with that. I'm probably going to be making some repairs to the alchemy machine, I think one of the little electrical… thingys is busted."

"The doodad?"

"Yeah, that thing. Current hypothesis is that it's due to heat damage."

"What's a hypothesis?"

"In layman's terms, a hypothesis is basically an educated guess. How you'd expect something to go."

"Cool." Webber looked back up at him, spider fangs clicking together happily.

This was fine.

"Whether or not it's due to heat damage, I still need to repair it. The alchemy engine isn't performing as efficiently as it could, which messes with how long it takes to craft things from a prototype."

"That's bad, isn't it?"

"Not exactly, but you don't really want to be caught out unawares when there's hounds on the way, and your spear is on the last stab before it breaks."

"Yeh. Have you seen Wendy anywhere?"

"Not today, no. I… eh, just woke up."

"We wanted to show her something, but it can wait for a little bit."

"Maybe you could look for her? She's probably trying to summon her sister."

"Maybe, maybe, but she might want some time alone! Sometimes spider gets like that when they have control of us."

"Good point." He blinked a bit, shifting in his seat to try and get comfortable. Or, well, as comfortable as he could reasonably get on craggy dirt.

Webber shut all of their eyes, nuzzling into the fabric of Wilson's waistcoat.

"Does it get cold in your tent at night? Webber?"

"Mhhrmm?" They sleepily blinked, opening all of their eyes asynchronously, then yawning, making a sound not entirely out of place from a kitten. "Could you repeat tha'?"

He gave a slight sigh. "Does it get cold in your tent at night?" A pause. "I can heat up a thermal stone for your tent if you'd like me to."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Wilson."

"If you say so." He lapsed into silence again, gingerly stroking the fuzz on the top of Webber's head. They curled up on his lap, leaning into the affection.

Wilson blinked, looking down at Webber again. "Not much of a morning person, are you?"

"Ssssspider isn't a morning spider."

"I see. Wickerbottom probably won't mind if you want to go back to bed for an hour or two."

"Nnnnnooooo. We're not tired. Honest."

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"We did, we did..." They yawned again as they trailed off, then remembered the point they were trying to make. "We did get sleep."

Wilson huffed out a sigh, before gingerly moving to stand up and pick the indigestible up. Digestible or not, they were still a child. And children were often abominably stubborn, even at the best of times.

"She won't mind all that much if you want to get another couple of hours of sleep, love."

A small, indescribable mumble from them as they settled into being held, tiny, clawed hands grasping onto his waistcoat.

He certainly wished he could do what he just suggested for Webber -- a couple more hours of sleep would probably do a few good things for his mental state, but he could go without, right?

Besides, he's been in much worse shape.

Wilson staggered over to the kid's tent, they'd insisted on having one to themselves and yet they still came into his tent on occasion, hell, he'd seen them sleep in the same bed with Willow once -- he staggered over and cautiously set them on their bedroll, then draped a blanket over them.

On second thought, he also left his waistcoat with them. It'd probably provide some comfort.

He stumbled over to the flap, opened it and got out of their tent, arms aching from the effort of having to haul a kid back to their bedroll. The body definitely remembered that he hadn't rested last night. Or, at least, not properly.

Taking a seat near to the fire pit, he fished a stick out from his pocket and poked about the inside contents. Charred wood and twigs and burnt flecks of grass and ashes, trapped inside a circle of rocks.

He blinked a bit, finding that Willow had sat down next to him, silently.

"Wickerbottom says I can't light the fire, too early in the autumn or somethin'."

Oh. Probably only here to sulk, then.

"You can light it up when the sun sets."

"Yeh, but then she'll bitch to me about lighting it up too fuckin' high!"

"I'm sure the both of you can come to a compromise." He didn't get paid enough for this.

In fact, he didn't get paid at all. There's not enough headache-relieving shrooms in the world for him to get in the middle of another argument between Willow and Wickerbottom.

The both of them were abominably stubborn. Wilson sighed to himself, shifting a bit, then yawning.

Oh, his eyes watered from that one.

"Er. Anyways." A pause. "Maybe you could go and get some more ch-"

"Wilson, dear." Wickerbottom side-eyed him from the area where they stuck their chests, while Willow squealed with glee. "My apologies to disappoint, but we are not out of charcoal."

Willow blinked, face dropping into a frown, before she gave a huff. "Whaddya want me to do, then?!"

"Isn't there, like. A buncha food tha' needs cookin'?" He mumbled, curling up again and resting his head in a hand. "Would be a shame if th' meat spoiled."

"Ugh, really? I don't even like cookin'."

"Your lighter does th' best chemical reaction for the food. Plus you don't burn yourself."

Willow cocked her head, almost mischievously, giving a buck-toothed grin. "Do I get to get more charcoal tomorrow?"

Wickerbottom sighed, quietly. "Willow, dearie. Please know that I will only allow you to collect charcoal if you bring someone else along with you."

"Can I take Wilson?"

"Unfortunately not, he has a prior commitment."

"Why not? He's not as boring as Woodie."

"That's something I can't answer, you'd have to ask him yourself." She gestured over to the aforementioned man, before actually looking at him.

The poor man had startled himself awake again, and he looked around, before he seemed to fixate on one spot in particular, awkwardly leaning back in his seat.

"...Maybe later." She lowered her voice. "He's acting kinda weird."

Wickerbottom blinked a little, before huffing out a sigh. "It's not my business to tell."

"Alright, alright, I get it, jeez. I'll go cook your stupid meat stuffs." Willow grumbled, before buggering off over to one of the two iceboxes and opening the door to the inside, filled with food of varying freshness.

Wilson blinked, staring back at the shadow in his vision, before it disappeared, simply poofing into warped flecks of nightmare fuel. He didn't particularly notice Wickerbottom sitting opposite him, but when he did, he cocked his head.

"How long have you been there?" He croaked out, before clearing his throat.

"For about a moment or two. Are we ready to try and test the mandrake?"

"I thought you'd-- we'd be doing it later on?"

"I shifted a few plans around."

"...You know I don't like sudden changes."

"I know, dear, I know. This will help with your insomnia, at least."

Wilson wasn't particularly inclined to trust that, but he was starting to run out of options. The green mushrooms would stop working eventually as he built up a tolerance to them. The blue ones, when cooked, didn't relieve that much of the ongoing headaches.

He personally hated wearing hats -- hat-hair and him were sworn enemies, and he'd much rather not experience the discomfort of more than a few hairs out of place.

The scientist sighed. "This is entirely for science. Can we write this down?"

"If you insist."

"Alright. How much mandrake does it take to knock someone out, using myself as the baseline."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god knows what i'm doing, i sure as hell don't. anyways, more build-up.
> 
> i have no idea if this is becoming a slog to get through. reviews would be appreciated but eh.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been discontinued. I didn't feel like updating it.
> 
> Anyways, this was supposed to be a rip-off of Rocket to Insanity, which, in turn, was a fanfic based on Cupcakes. I also made a fic based on Cupcames, but in DST.


End file.
